


Quam minimum credula postero

by MoonlightInTheWell



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ancient Greece, Ancient History, Ancient Rome, Angst and Feels, Angst and Porn, Imperialism, Light Bondage, M/M, Mystical Creatures, Mythology References, Orgasm Control, Polyamorous Character, Sexual Content, Slavery, Snakes, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-05 12:34:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14618652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonlightInTheWell/pseuds/MoonlightInTheWell
Summary: [ArdyNoct  Imperial Rome!AU] When Ardyn comes back to Latium after a two years in the Eastern Empire, he finds out that the boys he's left behind have grown and changed in unexpected ways. Moreover, they don't look happy to see him, at all!If only they weren't delicious like sweetened wine.Now that he's finally about to carry out his plans, he's forced to aknowledge that the heart is a dirty trickster...... And bonds are a scourge.





	1. I. Tu ne quaesieris, scire nefas, quem mihi, quem tibi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jeejaschocolate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeejaschocolate/gifts).



“Auspices were unfavorable this morning, but to think it was all for your arrival, Ardyn”.

Ignis’s voice is steady, which ruins the luscious smell of sweetened vine in his breath that Ardyn fondly approves. At least, Ignis has learnt to drink properly. 

But such harsh words!

A welcome that arouses Ardyn’s utmost interest and leaves him stunned for very long moments. Yes of course, he did expect some resistance, but a bold, sharp, and delicious tongue? He couldn’t ask for better. He lets his mouth linger in a wide pleased smile. He can almost savor the wine running in that young body, the dense liquor changing his blood taste.

It would be wondrous to have one cup with him and the others, leaning on the triclinium and catching up. Taking time to observe how his children have grown up.

And yet, he stays where he is, mending his dry lips with the tip of the tongue. Outside is dark, and cold. Smiling hurts a little.

“This world is much more unfavorable than you can imagine, my dear student. At least, knowledge lets us reign in our hells, and it’s always better than serve in someone’s else heavens. I’ve been having catastrophic auspices all day long. If I were one of them, I would have known”.

“I wonder”.

Ignis’s still so austere. It suits him better now. A tunic to his knees and sleeves to his naked wrist. A deep V over his chest, where the emerald cotton is covered by golden embroidery. It matches his eyes that, unfortunately, aren’t showing any black kohl.

Did he cease painting his face? After two years he’s nicely changed. His skin’s not so eburnean anymore, yet fair. At eighteen he’s still looking like a graceful _eromenos_ , and already suggesting the sumptuous man he will be. Bless his Egyptian mother and her godly nectarean blood.

He should tell him so, sooner or later, and watch him blush from cheeks to collarbone.

After all, Greeks were so limited and boring in the strict rules they pretended to follow.

Ardyn’s fingers tingle from joy.

Ignis is becoming a rare Nubian viper, one of the ancients, a guardian worthy of Anubis’s gates. Such a singular creature. Still inexperienced, though, which makes Ardyn fancy a battle of bites, so to teach him how to do it properly.

Unfortunately, he’s not come all the way here for this.

“Marvelous, truly marvelous! Here, aren’t you enjoying a marvelous banquet? I’ve heard of our fetching Prince’s ships even in the furthest frontiers of the civil world. They are famous, and for reasons! Caligula’s ships were nothing, compared to these masterpieces. Imagining this luxury alone entertains the dining nobles in Constantinople, I assure you! Yet, what a cold welcome, my dear children. I rode all the way here from the coast hoping for a joyful reunion. Anyway, I’m glad to find your impertinent tongue in high spirits, Ignis, and to hear that you’re practicing what I taught you”.

He throws a long tail of his chlamys behind a shoulder. Dust, bits of grass, and some blood from the sacrifice, still fresh, fall all around him on the hall white mosaic. The scarf with peonies and grapevines, the one he uses to celebrate rites, stays firmly on his head. It’s his only clean garment at the moment. The boots leave traces of the smelly mud from the woods, where the leaves are starting falling; the long chiton is torn in some parts, and caked everywhere in the salty veil of the raging sea. Waves were so fierce that the shorter dalmatic is white-stained on the borders, other than worn-out from all his long journey hardships.

Ignis lowers his head. He’s slightly blushing but his lips are a tight line of determination. It’s not fear, it’s not shame. It’s uncertainty. And the more sand he lets flow in the hourglass, the more it will weight.

“Silence is a good answer for now, Ignis. You’ve always been smart. Now, let me see my other children...”.

He takes one step further so to cast a full amused glance at the dining room.

While walking to the hall, he noticed that no one was crossing the first inner garden, surrounded by colonnades leading to the central part of the ship. So he’s not surprised by the absence of musicians, entertainers, or slaves to fill the cups or serve the food, even though most silver plates are empty, on the tables between the three triclinia. It can scantly be called a banquet. The room reflects the Prince’s taste: strikingly elegant in its simplicity, an intimate atmosphere that entices Ardyn’s tired eyes and makes him remember what it means to live among beloved souls.

A perfect place to make love to life. The vaulted ceiling, with its vitrified tiles, lets the moon evanescent light in; exquisite _asaroton_ mosaics on the floors, not representing the usual leftovers of a banquet thrown away by drunk masters, of course not! Noctis’s dining room is full of fishes, iridescent and of any size, turtles, swans, flowers and leaves peacefully floating in calm waters, here lighter there darker. The room walls are entirely covered with vivid frescos of a lake landscape, with the dawning sun in a corner. It’s Nemi lake, where the ship is anchored. Except for the lotuses and lily pads, but after all... Noctis’s been longing forever to escape Rome.

It’s a moving attempt by a father to gift him of a golden cage to his taste. And here he should be and... isn’t.

Where is he? Is he watching the full moon in the second garden, the one Ardyn can see out of the corner of his eye? Or is he sleeping in his chambers, beyond the columns and the fountain? 

Cor Leonis’s Pretorians are outside, on the shore. A praesidium to guard the only access. Slaves are in the first part of the ship. Here, in the core, there are only his friends.

Ignis triclinium is the one on the left. The cithara on the cushions is an old Ardyn’s gifts to his talented pupil.

Gladio and Prompto are together on the right triclinium. Lovers, maybe?

Prompto, little Prompto, has become a tempting nymph of milk and golden spices, tightly clothed in layers on layers of black silk but his arms, bejeweled in large golden bracelets. Apparently, he has given up pretending to be the Visigoth prince he’s born. He’s cuddling behind Gladio, who’s definitely taller than Ardyn remembers. And tougher, like a sword forged by a god that has finally tasted the fury of the battle. He’s sitting and wearing far too revealing clothes. What does he think he is, a Spartan? He’s lucky that there have been no wars during Regis’s rule, otherwise he would have got wasted on the attempt to prove himself worthy of his father.

Beautifully scandalous. More amusing than ever, in Ardyn’s opinion. Hostile savage eyes all for him.

Noctis should learn how to tame him. He may be able, in a distant future, but right now, he couldn’t tame Prompto. That blonde creature, with his intuitive and wily gaze. Ardyn welcomes its strange intensity, and his eyelids painted with violet. Oh, a ravenous lover should pound him so hard to make him cry, then kiss tears and paint off his tender skin. Who is he wearing make-up for? Why does he look ready to go wild, like a wasp’s nest? But so tense, so sad?

Ardyn strokes in his heart a violet eyelid, with a fingertip, tells him that it suits him... But Prompto doesn’t let him linger for long - he breaks eye contact, hides behind Gladio. That idiot doesn’t move, too absorbed in daring his patience.

Ardyn doesn’t mind the provocation, but it would be nice to know what to attribute it to.

All things considered, Ardyn has missed them. He came back for Noctis, of course, but somehow he’s grown fond of these children.

The tension in the air is greatly disturbing him.

This silence is far too long.

Why? And why should it matter? After all, he came here with glorious purpose. But now... His mind is buzzing with whims of his wayward disposition, which won’t go away until they’re satisfied.

Apparently, like every mortal he can’t escape his own nature.

Ardyn puts down the sack with his gifts for Noctis. Then he straightens up, opens the golden snake fibula on his right shoulder and pins its coiled limbs on his heart, freeing himself from the chlamys and throwing it away.

Ignis doesn’t move to take it. Not that Ardyn would let him. He’s no Regis, who let Ignis stay near Noctis at the price of his freedom. Ardyn never treated him like a slave and won’t start now.

His chlamys will stay right there, covering the Imperial eagle at the center of the hall, crushing a snake in his claws. Likely a disturbing Regis’ touch in interior decoration.

Ardyn spreads his arms in his children direction. No harm, no menace. Only endearment

As much as he’s enjoyed reveries about this day, it tastes much better.

Marvelous.

Finally, the silence pressures Ignis to find again his voice.

“We are glad to hear that these ships are highly regarded from afar, for they’re very dear to our Prince” and he doesn’t flinch, or show any more sign of discomfort under the weight of Ardyn’s lingering smile. “He isn’t feeling well, and he left our company early, as you can see”.

A change of tactic in favor of a weak argument. It looks like he wants to stop him, but he’s not seriously trying to throw him off. Of course, either option would be impossible to him anyway, for Ardyn has already made himself comfortable enough. 

Ignis knows it. So he wants to talk, struck in some tragic dilemma that makes his lips bloodless and his heart waver.

“All the more reason for me to see him immediately”.

All alone, Noct.

“He won’t see anyone”.

Without any of his cherished companions that make him smile and laugh.

“Did you have a fight, by any chance? Gladio? Prompto?”

And now Ignis won’t let him pass. He, the man who saved Noctis and them all from the saddest childhoods.

“You are speaking to me, Ardyn”.

Ignis, dear Ignis, the only one talking because he’s taking complete responsibility for some spine-chilling resolve.

Gladio keeps silent. They had some unpleasant fight, for sure!

Oh, they’ve grown up so much while he was away, taking care of their futures.

“Why aren’t you with Noctis? I truly don’t recognize you”.

All alone, in the night of his birthday.

“He wants to be alone”.

Excruciating.

“Are you seriously trying to make me believe that Noctis, our Noctis, doesn’t want to see me? You have to strive more, Ignis. You’re miserably failing”.

It’s not impossible, sure. Ardyn knows too well that human heart is a dirty anathema and nothing more.

But he knows just as much how to bite.

Where’s the most tender spot.

To what extent pump his poisons in order to thrash the nerves.

He’s not even remotely struck a lethal blow yet, why should he be so hated?

“Don’t you have any idea why?”

“Oh, my children. Why so solemn? Since when his moods scare you? He’s angry with me. So what? He has reasons. Do you think me stupid?” he’s laughing at this point, delighted. “I know him, and you Ignis. And you, Gladio. You too, Prompto. I know you to the last shiver over and under your skin.  I will stand his tantrums. He can throw them as much as it satisfies him. I know how to soothe his wounded heart. And I’m the only one that can do it, as I’ve always done”.

Gleams of torment in Prompto’s cerulean eyes, flames in Gladio’s.

They should be flowers gloriously blooming in the luxury of Regis’s peace.

You never know when life will screw your fig to blood.

Seize the day, like Horace said, nh?

“But of course it’s not us that should be scared, Ardyn”.

This is so hilarious.

“Me?”

Is Ignis fighting for real, this time? Ignis, the child that strove his utmost to learn from him.

Standing tough and hiding so many deliciously soft spots.

Too tasty for a lethal strike.

How did Ardyn’s mind manage to even think it. Yes, it was a possibility in his plans, extremely remote but still. Now? Now that his boys are in front of him, now that he can hear their breath, smell the flavor of their bodies, look in their eyes?

His dirty anathema beats so fast.

Yet, Ardyn has already indulged far too long.

He needs to see Noctis, right away, and hear from his lips that it was his explicit order to not let him pass. which would savagely hurt his feelings.

“As you are aware, our Prince is about to leave Latium. He needs as much rest as possible. The marriage with the Princess has been your doing. If you knew him so well, you’d be conscious there are consequences. He doesn’t want to see you because you ‘re forcing him to leave his home”.

“Leaving Rome? He has been wanting this since forever, so much that Aulea gave birth to him in Syracuse”.

“That’s not my point”.

“He’s with you. I suppose you will go with him all the way to Constantinople, aren’t you? Like the loyal companions you are. Prompto? You too, am I right?” not one breath, one sign. Ardyn lifts his chin, eyes to the moonlight that make the ceiling glow. “Even our mighty and wise sovereign, the august Regis, knows that I am here today. I’ve informed him about my desires by letter, when I left Syracuse three weeks ago. I’ve received his blessing this morning, in Antium, where I saw the fleet ready for the Prince. So here I came, as fast as the horse could gallop. I’m so happy I’ve arrived just in time”.

Regis’s name is wont to strike respect in their young hearts. They have no authority over their ruler’s will. And accepting to see the letter would be a crystal-clear sign of disrespect and distrust, in a room where the only crystal thing acceptable should be the cups.

It won’t be enough to end the discussion, of course. But Ardyn needs to assess a crucial detail.

Where does their loyalty lie.

“Here, I can show you the letter if it puts your hearts at peace”.

“Yes, do it. Show us the letter”.

Gladio, of course. He speaks solemnly like the old man he isn’t. It’s so tragic that Ardyn could even forgive him, this time. His long unruly hair, the tight line of his full lips, really remind him of the stern Persian statues of Alexander’s Macedonian generals.

Ah, Gladio. The stubborn cub.

Ardyn lightly laughs in his closed mouth. Like a soft amused purr.

“But yes, of course!”

He dramatically reaches for the hidden pocket in layers of clothes, where of course there’s no letter from Regis.

But Ignis stops him right away with a solemn gesture.

“No, we can’t do this”.

He turns around to eye Gladio. They don’t need words to understand each other. More true than ever. Gladio growls deep in his chest, ready to blow up this play and speak his mind without further ado, but Prompto blocks him. He hugs him from behind with trembling arms, snow-white on Gladio’s much darker skin, whispering... pleads?, in his ear.

“We won’t do this” and Ignis faces him again, so pale that Ardyn fears he’s going to faint.

So broken.

“Now, listen to me”.

“We are not you. You always do what you want and don’t care about the consequences, Ardyn”.

“Exactly. It’s time for you to learn this precious skill, don’t you think? I’ve got a good idea. You three look exhausted. It’s late and I really want to see Noctis. You will take some rest. Tomorrow I will check over every one of you. And we will talk”.

After all, he’s the imperial physician, the healer who helped Noctis walk again during his childhood, the one who brought them up and took care of their needs and dreams in a Court of selfish, distant adults.

Ignis closes his eyes.

“You are purposefully being very difficult”.

“One thing’s for sure. I will never treat you like a fragile creature. I know better, child”.

Ignis is dazzling like Apollo’s smirk. And yet, Ardyn never laid on him a sensual stroke. Never once took what Ignis would have offered by himself, if only he thought him interested in his body.

And now he’s there, pure in body and soul.

Oh, absence really made Ardyn’s heart grow fonder. It’s so hard to remind himself that there’s a small chance that Ignis isn’t trusting him at all. On the contrary, if he was persuaded that Ardyn’s an enemy, it would be a nice trick.

Yet, Ardyn’s been around for enough time to trust his instincts.

Somebody has messed up badly with his favorite children. Somebody reduced them in this state.

Well, there won’t be any need to exert himself over such trivialities.

Soon, Rome’s bloodlust will be memorably satisfied anyway.

“What do you want from Noctis now? After all you’ve... After all those years, all the things you told him. And me”.

Soft spots everywhere under his straight composure.

Ardyn’s thoughts run wilder than everyone around him could figure, let alone Ignis and his purity. Maybe Prompto. He’s so perceptive.

What does he want from Noctis.

The answer?

“Auspices were gruesome this morning. Even the stars are too scared to speak clearly. You must have seen it too. I am here to throw all the bad things in the fire”.

“Then why, Ardyn? Why you proposed the marriage? Noctis is sacred, he’s more sacred than the virgin Vestals. He suffered so much for being denied human love and now he has to marry!”

The answer?

“Many things you can already understand. As for the rest, you will know over time”.

The true answer is another answer: is the Prophecy true about Noctis? Is it really him the one Ardyn has been waiting since forever?

“What if I wanted to know now?”

If the Sybil was right about him, Ardyn won’t be able kill him.

If it’s not...

He doesn’t even want to think about it.

“If you don’t trust me anymore, answering would be useless anyway”.

Before he can reply or react, Ardyn touches his chest right over the heart.

It’s beating like a singing goldfinch.

Then Ardyn’s lips, in Aeolic Greek, chant Sappho’s fluty strokes.

“ _Now that he is gone and my anger vanished,_

_Keen regret and grief for the pain I gave him_

_Pierce my heart, and fear of loss that is anguish_

_Darkens the daylight_.”.

There it is, Ignis’ soul, right behind his eyes. No lies.

Ardyn smiles, slowly steps back and shows him the naked palm. The, he unlaces the dagger from his right and hands it over to him.

Still in Greek, this time in Ionic, more familiar to Ignis’s ears.

“ _Be careful. There’s still blood on the blade, I didn’t clean it properly. At dawn I waited for Noctis in the woods. For hours. So I made the sacrifice to Diana by myself in the sanctuary, and came here on the ships. To let him neglect his holy duties, the situation must be severe. But you don’t trust me anymore..._ ”.

Ignis’s heart and composure are finally shaken. He immediately replies, in Latin, to let the other two understand well where he stands.

“Ardyn, you are welcome among us. Unfortunately, you’ve… You...” he hesitates and reprises fast, too fast, to conceal the slip. Changing what he was to say. “You have created a regrettable situation. You” and it’s hilarious that, even though unable to see Gladio’s furious glare behind him, he steps sideways to block him from Ardyn’s view, “You left without talking to him. You’re eager to meet him now, but you were not when you left. You hurt him” and that’s more crucial than anything, for Ignis.

Ah, beautiful Ignis as he tries to shield the truth with another truth.

If it were as he’s pretending, Noctis would have simply awaited and slapped him at the door.

Anyway, it’s true that Noct didn’t wait for him at the door.

Has he really forgotten?

“But now I’m here. And it’s me, the Ardyn you know so well, children. Have you forgotten me? I know, I know... I wasn’t here while life happened you. Good and bad things. For example, Gladio” and he casts a grin at him. Admiration and pride. “Let me congratulate to you in person on your toga praetexta’s laying down! What a magnificent day I lost! Leaving behind the purple borders and getting the white garment. I bet Clarus was so proud of you”.

More likely, Clarus Amicitia didn’t attend at all. Why should he? Many years ago, it was Prince’s idea that Gladio had the right, as a free Roman child, to have his toga praetexta. He didn’t care at all that Gladio’s grandfather was the General who conquered the northern people... and his own freedom; he didn’t care that Clarus, as son of a freedman, hadn’t worn the praetexta; he didn’t care that, above all, Clarus had simply obeyed his ambitious Prince Regis’s vision (after all, toga is an obsolete tradition occurring in the Western Empire only).

No, Noctis didn’t care at all.

It was important to Gladio. That’s it. It got so important to Noctis too that Ardyn openly took sides. He reminded Regis and Clarus that Noctis’s desires were sacred, and couldn’t be ignored. Above all, he noted, Noctis was still in great hardships, still couldn’t walk and surely would never wear a praetexta himself, because he was the children of the Sybil’s Prophecy.

So Gladio, heir of eastern Barbarians, got his praetexta. What a funny day! Four children and one adult gathered around that wide and quite unpractical garment, unable to decide what god was now suitable for Gladio. He insisted like an idiot for the war god Ares/Mars, of course, yet Ardyn considered him more likely a descendant of a valorous Macedonian who found in Persepolis the love of his loins. So, Ardyn proposed Tammuz, chanted the myths of his Greek cousin, Adonis, and of course Gladio didn’t want to be the dying shepherd.

Gladio: a long history of lacking awareness of his own soft spots, despite Ardyn’s best efforts. 

“I received your congratulatory letter”.

Ardyn taught little Gladio how to drape the praetexta around his body. From then on, Ignis that took care of helping him.

“You didn’t reply. I suppose you were sent to the north right after”.

And Prompto, the unaware Inanna, had no part in the rampant happiness of the grandson of the man who defeated his people in the north.

“Your informant is right”.

“Oh, I don’t need any source but my eyes. Do I look blind? I arranged the marriage in spring, they called you back immediately, so you had the whole summer to expose your skin. But you’re darker on your face, neck and forearms. And trousers, you wore trousers and an armor. So, it was a cold place. Add to that, it completely makes sense. You’re the General’s son. It’s such a relief that we are at peace, or you would have made your name against Prompto’s younger brothers”.

Prompto, hiding behind Gladio.

Evanescent. Absorbing, pondering.

“I wouldn’t have replied to your letter anyway”.

“I’m afraid you are too passionate to hold grudges for long, Gladio. It doesn’t suit you. As it doesn’t the legionary life either. Don’t lie, you didn’t like it. How did you stand being away from these three? Travelling is awesome, but army is dumb. Always been, always will”.

Gladio smiles a little. Clarus may command his son’s mind and spirit, but Ardyn has got his heart. Their hearts.

Piercing through it’s easy.

“It’s a pity that there won’t be other praetexta’s laying down” he walks into the dining room, pours himself some wine in the cup abandoned near the central triclinium. Noctis’s cup. Then fills the other three and lifts his own to Ignis, and to Prompto. The first is a slave and the second a hostage who will never see again his homeland’s drab light. “At least, I really hope they will let me be, and stay with you from now on. Gladio” with his voice is deep and familiar. “I will tell so to our rulers right away as soon as I’m in Rome. But, if asked, you can pass my explicit desires on your father”.

A smooth second hit, right where there’s no defense. Clarus would never listen to anything his son would say. Like Regis and Noctis.

The reply is immediate, though quite surprising.

“You make Noctis cry, you are dead”.

The depths of his heart exposed like the raging fire in a dragon throat.

Yet still, Gladio knows nothing of truly blazing zest.

The frankness is refreshing and... tender? So young.

Ardyn nods solemnly, almost bowing his head.

Not yet satisfied.

“As your dear Ignis, aren’t you really believing, even imagining, that I could hurt our beloved Noctis, are you? I don’t know what you’ve been told, but one thing is sure. Stop this foolish pretense. I know you’re happy to see me like I am happy to see you. Now, my children, you should relax. There, the cups are filled, drink your wine. You’re not nearly as drunk as you should be in this most auspicious of days. Enjoy your food. Tomorrow I will teach you how to have a real feast. This is intolerable”.

Gladio and Ignis look away.

Prompto doesn’t take his eyes off of him.

He makes the sign of the cross on his forehead, with his right thumb. Mhm, this alone is more significant than everything that’s been said.

Ardyn focuses, while drinking his wine. Eyes almost closed, sinking in the deepest lore of his mind, to the point he can even perceive the faint roll of the huge ship.

Winds are running wild outside.

And this is not... a banquet.

They fought.

Noctis’ isn’t with them. Above all, it’s his birthday and he’s in Nemi, not in Rome. Why? Better here than there for too many reasons, though. His birthday… This doesn’t look like a birthday.

This is... mourning.

Oh. Oh, the wine almost comes back up.

“That’s it” he whispers.

Taste and truth sink in at the same time.

They burn under his eyelids.

Simple. He, Ardyn, he himself, has been sentenced to death. It might be waiting for him somewhere in Rome. Will it be after that Regis hears about his long travel in the Eastern Empire? The precious connections, the information he gathered? Or will it be before meeting the Emperor, somewhere along the Appian way?

Now that the heirless Iedolas is almost on his deathbed; now that Ardyn managed to combine the marriage with Lunafreya; now that the children have grown up and they have only their fates to oblige, Ardyn’s time is over.

That’s cruel, Regis.

“As you know well, the marriage isn’t my original idea. I was simply there and took advantage of the situation. But if you excuse me, I’d rather explain myself to Noctis first. About you, I will forgive you for treating me like some maleficent fairy in Prompto’s northern children tale. Now I take my leave and greet you, my young men”.

Cerulean eyes like arrows. So sharp.

At least, they snapped.

“Beware of the lake monster”.

Gladio turns around to watch the younger as if he saw him for the first time.

“Do you still believe that nonsense?”

“What are you talking about, Prompto?”

“Locals, and Prompto” Ignis leans back on his triclinium, takes a long sip. He seems intent on getting drunk for real. “They believe there’s some gigantic snake monster in this lake. It’s just a legend people began telling when we came here on the ships. It’s useful for security, since no one would ever dare swim in this lake at night. So we guard the wood bridges and nothing else”.

“I take care of the rest” Gladio adds with confidence over his cup.

Prompto doesn’t touch the wine, but plays nervously with a grape.

“Yet, I know what I saw. It was the leviathan of the Apocalypse!”

“Oh, Prompto... Not again”.

Ignis sighs deeply, while Ardyn standing between the table and their triclinia, pours him more wine.

“Ignis, I swear!”

“You saw nothing, squirt” mutters Gladio. “You and Noctis were so drunk I brought you back in my arms. Monsters like that don’t exist. There will be no apocalypse. And as a Christian you shouldn’t believe in monsters”.

“I believe in what I believe”.

“This is nonsense! Stop scaring yourself over it!”

“If I believe you can protect me from that gigantic dragon, I can as well believe that I really saw it!”

Ardyn bursts out laughing. For the tiniest moment, he forgets himself and feels warm, at... peace.

Ignis follows as if now laughing was fair again.

Prompto smiles timidly, getting away from Gladio’s attempt to push him off the triclinium. Ardyn takes one of the violets adorning the table, and looks for a place to put it in Prompto’s braids. His right temple is covered by locks falling to his collarbone. The others and the hairs on the left are tied up in golden braids, pinned behind his head. From there, they fall freely on his back.

Ardyn purposefully avoids Gladio’s jealous gaze, while he threads the stem with his gentlest touch.

“Prompto, the Prophecy is absolute and very clear about Noctis’ fate. Nothing can harm him so it’s unlikely that this monster, this.... Leviathan... Is chasing him. Now drink you wine or Gladio will. If he gets drunk, he won’t be able to protect you as you wish so much”.

Said that, Ardyn pulls back the scarf from his head, revealing his hairs darker than their wine, in the light of the lamps.

“Rest and dream well, my children”.

No need to wait for their answers.

Will they be able to rest? Knowing that he’s sentenced to death?

His good moods falls under his boots.

Nothing ever changes and he should have learnt his lessons.

He walks back to the hall, picks his sack off the floor and throws it behind his shoulder, with no care for the precious content, especially the one inside the wicker basket.

What did he expect? The truth?

They’re plagued, around the verge of desperation. They’re powerless, young. Dependant. What could Ardyn ask more from them? He could even settle for it, after all. He’s not a children, is he?

And besides, he can do little about it at the moment.

And that’s a lie. He’s lying to himself. Well, fine! Yes, he would be crazy joyful if Regis got betrayed by Ardyn’s children. And yes, although his dirty anathema is so fond of those children, he can still be quite the mischievous improviser. Not having  time is a pretence lamer than Ignis’s attempt to lie. He just doesn’t want to face the gruesome doubt in the pits of his stomach.

Would they really do it? They may. Maybe. If he emotionally forced them.

Maybe is a good answer, isn’t it?

No, absolutely not.

If they were to do it, no tricks on Ardyn’s part. They should have done so by themselves. That would have put his dirty anathema at peace and made him change it.

He’s thirsty. He’s in such a pitiful state that part of him was really hoping for... it, and now he’s acting like a fool out of control.

Once again.

He believed...

No, he must take his control back. All this mess wasn’t the in the plan, in his exciting, perfect and simple plan which still stands, though now tastes like a cup of water.

After two years, not only they’re still meaning something to him, but now he desires the impossible.

Which kind of curse is this? Wasn’t the first one more than enough?

Pushing them to betray, in order to destroy Regis, breaking them... 

... feels awful and wrong.

He stops by the large fountain in the center, washes his face with one hand, pushes back the scarf falling over his head.

He straightens up with eyes turning to the sky, where the moon isn’t high enough yet, so no reflection in the fountain and only a scant light in the cold night.

He can do it. He will. He feels much better now. More like himself. There’s no need to force his young men to do anything, because the scourge will take care of things in a matter of days. This was his simple plan and his design.

No need to unnecessarily hurt them. In fact, he might find a way to keep them safe. That’s what he wants.

What he believes or not is child’s play and he’s no child.

Calmer, breathing deeply, he looks at the garden because it’s so dark. No lights except the sky. The Corinthian columns along the perimeter are embraced by climbing roses and jasmines, like a Babylonian terrace. At floor level, the bushes are entwined and form a high hedge, still loose but already effective.

It opens only where Ardyn came from, and on the opposite side. The Prince’s closed door must be gold-plated, because it gleams a little in the deep darkness.

He should go, now.

“You... Are here”.

The voice falls like a ray in rough waters. The only sound it makes is a breath held in the throat.

“Here we are, my morning star” he forces out, looking to his direction behind the hedge. Now he knows he’s there, he manages to glimpse his figure. He’s wearing something darker than the night itself. Over his head, too. Likely a black toga. “Let me explain before casting me away. Your Ignis has already tested me thoroughly”.

He can play make-believe with himself until the very end.

“I heard you were in the hall”.

“Did you spy on me?”

He walks closer, trying to see him, touching the branches that hide him and force them apart.

“We have no time for that. You shouldn’t be here”.

Ardyn can barely hear. Noctis is speaking like a child that has been crying for days.

His radiant child.

“Is it true, then? You don’t want me, Noct?”

Ardyn tightens his hand around petals and thorns until he doesn’t feel hurt anymore.

“You don’t understand”.

He’s already made his scarified and lonesome peace. 

“Why are you hiding from me, Noct?”

Noctis’s fingers push and slither until they found his, around the thorns.

“My father wants you dead, Ardyn. You must leave Rome now”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

\--<-<@ TBC @>->\--

 

Hi dear readers! <3

First of all, I'm so excited and happy. My first English fanfiction...

Thanks for reading! T_T 

 

First of all, these chapters are set at the end of IV century.

**The history context**. At the beginning of the century, the Roman Empire had been already divided into two parts, the Western and the Eastern. During the first half of the IV century, Emperor Constantine managed to rule over both of them. He founded a new Capital in the east, that was called Constantinople in his honor. After his death, in 337, some of his family members exterminated the others, in order to share the power.

So…

Those were extremely confusing and dangerous years, when Emperors came and went, trying their best to take and keep the power though everything was really out of control, the Barbarians were at the borders and people realized that you win more and faster if you kill your opponent or have him killed.  
So, everyone wanted to kill everyone. J  (Yes, it was the Game of Thrones of the Ancient World). No wonder that the Western Empire was doomed to collapse not much after.

**The fanfiction**. This doesn’t happen here, because after Constantine’s death it was Mors that ascended to the throne in the West. Every Constantine’s descendant was killed. In the East the power was taken by Iedolas’s grandfather. 

Well, we still have Constantinople and an Eastern Empire. Regis rules over the West, in fact his Capital is Rome. Of course he’s trying to reunify everything and make it possible a new golden age under one Emperor. He stays out of the fight between Christians and Pagans, respecting both but refusing to take sides: historically, by the end of IV century, Christianism was the Empire official religion; in this fanfiction, things are still fluid.  
Prompto’s status as hostage is an artistic license. No Visigoth Prince has ever been taken as hostage, or hosted, to grow up in Rome. Even though it’s an historical fact that Augustus, the first Emperor, had foreign princes or noble foreign children brought to him, to let them grow up as Romans. Visigoth would sack Rome at the end of the century (and even after), and would be among the Barbarians that would make the Western Empire fall.

I want to be as historically accurate as I can, but since I decided for an Emperor Regis, it completely changed history. For the same reason, many prominent historical people can’t be here because they never had the chance to emerge (and because that would be a mess, a true mess, and I want to focus on them).

 

If you are curious about the context, here's the [link to my tumblr post](https://moonlightinthewell.tumblr.com/post/173807941364/here-the-notes-for-the-fanfic-3) for some clarifications. 

Here some details:

Asaraton mosaics, [here](http://parenthetically.blogspot.it/2012/08/unswept-and-unwelcome.html) (the little mouse is SO CUTE!!!) 

Ancient Rome Toga, [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toga).

Freedmen and Slavery, [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slavery_in_ancient_Rome#Freedmen). 

Noctis’ ships are anchored in the Nemi lake, where there was a very ancient and bloody cult for [Diana Nemorensis](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diana_Nemorensis), the goddess of the moon (among other things). 

Nemi is famous because Caligula had built there two beautiful ships, that have been lost for centuries before being dragged out of the lake during the XX century (unfortunately, they’ve been destroyed during WW2). Noctis’ ships are bigger and even more luxurious, but are similar and Caligula’s ones can be taken as reference. One is for the Prince, the other is a Temple.

[Here’s](https://www.heritagedaily.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/NEMI22.png) the first. 

[Here's](https://c2.staticflickr.com/6/5260/5470261138_f366cb07eb_z.jpg) the second. 

Another [reconstruction](http://iltirreno.gelocal.it/polopoly_fs/1.16021554.1508628463!/httpImage/image.jpg_gen/derivatives/detail_558/image.jpg) of both. I really like the [first one](https://hubpages.com/education/Roman-Emperor-Caligula-and-the-Nemi-Barges) in this page, about which I didn't find any useful information, but I think it was drawed before the archeological findings.

About the myths. I won’t say much, because reasons. ;D But some gods are more known than others, so I will leave only the links of the potentially “lesser known”: [Tammuz](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dumuzid_the_Shepherd)  and [Inanna](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inanna).

 

The title of this story comes from a famous Horatio’s line, the one that starts with “ _carpe diem_ ” (“seize the day”) and goes on with “quam minimum credula postero”, which can be translated as “ _put very little trust in tomorrow_ ”.

Ardyn quotes Sappho’s verses. I took the English translation from [here](https://www.gutenberg.org/files/42166/42166-h/42166-h.htm).

If you have any other questions or curiosities, contact me, I love to talk about the boys and everything else. You'll find me on

_[ **My tumblr. <3**](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/moonlightinthewell) _


	2. Nec Babylonios temptaris numeros

It hurts. The lips that pierced Ardyn’s mind with fatal and unexpected words (‘my father wants you dead’, a tender note deserving to be cherished), stay now sealed. They cover behind a thrilling silence, thicker than the high bushes hiding the mouth, throat, and body of which they’re sweet blossoms. 

Ardyn’s lips shape a silent “you metamorphosis, my love”, like a running nymph hit by a God’s maddening touch. But he’s no God and his head is constrained in a numb standstill, can’t think clearly.

“Noct, oh Noct. You...” and as he rolls the words under his teeth, he sounds hurt. Oh, very hurt. He’s fake, but he’s also true, he’s both at the same time, since he’s unable to come up with anything else to tell him there and now. It’s what he feels. Isn’t this the best definition of honesty? “Are you angry with me” that’s a fact, not a question. “I’ve been away for a long time. But that’s nothing! I could await you for much, much more, Noct...”. 

As he’s already done for ages.  

Noctis storms away, brushing against the plants on his side of the hedge. He walks to where the roses bloomed in their darkest shade, where sun fed them to lush and moon can’t penetrate. They are tangled with a dense grid of peony branches and long leaves. It’s too late in the year for peonies, so the roses prosper alone.

Ardyn steps behind him with calm and impassible rhythm. He eyes his hand, bleeding in some point for the thorns. He closes it in a strong fist, tempted to show his true face, to invoke the chthonian powers and have a viper slip in a slit under the dense hedge. 

It would scare the Prince out of his nest, given that Noctis has been fascinated and terrified by snakes since the horse accident that left him almost crippled. 

It would also serve one of Ardyn’s purposes for the night, given that one of his gifts is intended to mend this unfortunate fear.

But it’s not how Ardyn is solving the matter, against the voice of reason. First of all, yes, he adores feats of strength on a massive scale, but using violence against Noctis would mean admitting defeat on a deeper level. Since when his sweet Prince has such a power to unnerve him?

Second, and it’s really worrisome, a softer approach looks like... _well-deserved_. 

Far too soft for Ardyn, really. Very uncharacteristic. 

He frowns gravely at himself. He should stop right there, or he will get himself into a labyrinth with a few unknown outcomes. 

As if time started flowing again under his skin, in his veins, in and out his ribs, tingling at the roots of his hairs. It’s a carnal awakening of every healed wound - and Ardyn’s has got so many all over him, all over inside.

Not a good sign.

Of course he can’t stop now. It’s beyond his control.

Definitely not a good sign.

“Noct, you can’t go anywhere. Unless you decide to run for it, but it’s not wise, you know. You’re wearing nothing on your feet, aren’t you? Have you become a moist creature of woods?”

They’re in one corner, on the side of the garden bordering Noctis’s bedroom. The leaves are rustling with the chilly winds and the night is dark, the moon isn’t high enough in the sky. 

Ardyn spreads his arms, almost admitting defeat. An humble sign of peace he hopes will soften Noctis’s hurling heart. 

“Do you really want me to leave? If you’re angry, wouldn’t you prefer chasing me like Diana did to Actaeon?”

When the boy was a child, he loved that legend - the mortal hunter who saw Diana’s naked body when the goddess was having a bath, therefore got eaten alive by his own dogs as punishment. An old sweet tale... Ardyn loved telling it and similar stories to his cute child. Regis always tried to shield him from the horrors of this world. Silly man. 

Pleasure dwells in a shivering heart. Fear is a wise teacher. The Chosen One is destined to a ghastly fate. It’s better for him to be prepared. Ardyn took care of it with selfless courtesy, though Noctis is doing a terrible job at thanking him. After all Ardyn has done for him... Oh yes, he should leave, yes, really, he should.

The wise part of him is spouting he should let fate have its way.

No one cared for him after all, when his time came. He made it just splendidly, against everyone that took advantage of him before and after he got cursed. 

As much as he should, he’s not able to.  And he must figure out the reason. 

He’s a liar. A magnificent one. The plan is to speak to Noctis, take back his trust and do what he came here to do. Nothing less, nothing more. It will be easy, since he’s already earned his trust in the past, since they have already been close. 

Those... Feelings? No, they’re too strong, they’re just annoying desires. He’s familiar with them, and they’re among the reasons he left so abruptly, two years ago. He didn’t expect to find them again, troublesome as they were. He must find a way to use them to his advantage, since he has to play by Noctis’s rules. 

What does he know about softness, kindness, when it comes to deep sea? Hilarious, isn’t it? He’s been there but he forgot what he was. 

Ardyn closes his eyes, forcing himself to remember the time of his life before anything else, when he was different. Before he became the Chosen One, when he could have been be anything (maybe a king, too) but brilliantly decided that heroically sacrificing himself was best for the world, and for him; when he earned voluntarily his scourge...

He can’t fake something he doesn’t remember. He can’t even be truthful and dance with Noctis on its rhythm. He’s exposed, vulnerable, at this brat’s mercy, despite his power and the brat’s destiny lyeing in his hands.

Ardyn can’t figure out what kind of chains are restricting him. 

He isn’t even sure that Noctis is the Chosen. Few but solid doubts rip his certainty like a huge dragon-slayer axe: if Noctis is the Chosen, why an almost lethal accident when he was a child? Nothing over the earth or under the sky can harm the Chosen, because he’s a sort of semi-god, granted a transitional eternal life. As a counterpart, the Chosen suffers from the great disease. Ardyn remembers far too well the painful numbness in the muscles after the fits. Sometimes his tongue still pulses where he almost chopped off it with a bite. 

No fits for Noctis. Never. Not a fainting, a fluctuating eyelid, a spasm. And the accident almost destroyed an eight-years-old Noctis: it was so severe that Ardyn went through the trouble and stepped in before it was too late. 

He saved Noctis. He should have left after helping him walk again, yet he stayed. He wasn’t supposed to be part of Noctis’s life. He might have interfered with his destiny. Leaving Rome two years ago was imperative. Among other reasons for his departure, he had to leave Noctis alone. 

It’s the time of truth. 

If he’s not the Chosen One, Ardyn will... No, it can’t be personal. That part of the labyrinth must stay closed.

The one and only reason is practical, yes.

Ardyn has to know because, if he is, Rome will crumble within one month, Regis will sweat blood in his deathbed, so will the Empire. It’s the only way for Noctis to be free, to go after his destiny pawed with bloody asphodels. If he isn’t, well... what will Ardyn do? He never thought about it.

This is not working. It’s not working at all. His unclear, confused needs are disrupting his good judgement. 

If the Gods of his youth still existed, they would be laughing their asses off. They loved seduction and untamed extremes; those were ancient Gods, for whom he strove until he became a beggar, an enemy of any good thing in this world. Those Gods died, he’s still here, sunk in mud and blood. His prison has no bars, despite his fierce resistance, and it taught him that there are no rules to break. Just a meaningless void, and loneliness. 

He can’t be part of history, he’s been erased from it and he can’t go back. 

Is he resisting again? Is he still looking for a way through? It’s the only likely reason for him to be here, waiting for Noctis to speak, to move, to come to him, as if he wasn’t the Accursed, the One who sooner or later gets feared and hated by every creature in this world. It’s his curse. If the Chosen One is tricked to sacrificing himself for love, the Accursed stands for anything the Chosen isn’t.

Ardyn worked out the mechanism long ago. Yet he’s still looking for... What? 

He became dexterous at killing, be it with blades, bare hands and teeth, human words or wicked spells. He kills quickly, without haste, yet quickly. In his touch preys abandon themselves, as they would for the Chosen. Their fears soothed, rooted out from the heart by one hand while the other strikes the lethal blow. 

He knows what he must do. What he chose for himself. 

“I made the sacrifice in your place, in the Goddess’ sanctuary. It was a wolf, Noct. He was too old to dominate for much longer, but he was still proud and smart. He would have loved you... If only you were there. I let him follow me, and bestowed upon him a painless demise. I hope it will be enough to propitiate a good year for you, my darling”.

He cut open between two ribs, pierced through his heart. Blood flowed all over his fur, the stones on the floor, and the grass. 

Lucky, so lucky, did it know it?

No, he didn’t. In the last moments he writhed in Ardyn’s iron grip. He couldn’t get free from death, because Ardyn had expected his desperation. Foolish creature... Just before the last rattle, why didn’t it love him? As you love the one who undoes the spell of life? Why clinging on your chains? 

Ardyn liked him. Like anything he kills. Mortal creatures are charming in their fragile beauty, craving for more life, even if it’s miserable and painful. 

The one exception is Love. A singularity, but nevertheless a concrete truth when the chance arises. 

He recognizes it in the people around Noctis: his father, his beloved friends. They’re still to be put to test, but it’s there as far as Ardyn can tell. 

Which is little, actually. Shards of memories can’t make up for the present lack of the feel itself. He perceives in himself some echoes of the time he was the Chosen One, when his stupid unstinting anathema pounded so hard it disrupted his breath, and he laughed with all his heart. Even now, cursed with spiteful hatred (either inside him or inflicted), even as the Accursed, he’s doesn’t feel much different. Sometimes he acts as out of love. As. It’s not genuine of course, it can’t be, he’s not a fool. He knows better.

He’s twisted, corrupted to the core, a deviant hex to the world.  

No bars, no chains, no rules. But he knows how to end it.

One delusion after another, he learnt by heart every dirty leak under his cheeks, where tears froze like dirty ice.  

As.

He’s wont to be a tangle of lies.

“How was your sacrifice, last year? Did you do it as I taught you? Or you didn’t make it? Still so kind, Noct?”

Noctis is wont to be hope for any life form on earth, if he’s the Chosen.

Foolish boy. Nothing can really keep Ardyn away from him. Least of all, a simple hedge of roses with their flourishing branches. They force him to hiss under his breath when he pushes his fingers between their thorns; their tender petals, still blooming in late August, thrill under his fingertips. 

He would gladly chop them into whips to pound Noctis’s naked feet.

He’s got tired of this game. 

It’s a puppy scratch, compared to Ardyn’s. Still, it digs deeply and hold up his senses. Unfortunately, despite his best efforts, he has never eviscerated the Prophecy into a clear, comprehensible prose; since he found a place in Rome, at Noctis’s side, his plans have changed many times; since he got again a proper life, his thoughts have wandered far off, so afar, that he often forgot why he came in Rome at all. 

And right now he’s touching the roses, letting their strong scent contaminate his fingers, to ground himself in the hard task to decide wisely, ruminate patiently. 

He’s like the old wolf and this night might be Noctis’s last chance to take his life willingly offered. 

“Noctis. Silence doesn’t impress or stop me. You aren’t a little children anymore. Still, if you want to be so, you should at least reveal yourself, let me hold you and tell you how much I missed even your stubborn silences”.

Still nothing. Ardyn murmurs a curse against youth, while jostling with the branches, trying to unseal them. They don’t loosen, entwined as if they were there from a millennium, masters of the colonnade.

“Your powers are more rampaging than ever, you, you beloved of Nature”.

He provokes with sharp irony. He never believed the wondrous coincidences surrounding Noctis’s person. Many were purely made up to fortify a legend around the Prince, even though animals really love him and plants grow faster when he’s around. Being the Chosen One means something radically different than some trivial domestic miracles. Long peaceful years aren’t enough, either. Those Romans are close-minded, pragmatic suckers. 

Noctis himself doesn’t believe in these trifles, but his child is special, after all. 

Does he know, somewhere deep inside his soul? 

“Your roses are impressive. Do they come from Armenia? Their petals are silky knots, It would be a pity if I chopped them into fine sand, just because I’m loosing my patience”.

Noctis doesn’t know he’s unarmed. Even so, threatening may be enough. Ardyn is sure that the old wolf’s sacrifice is still shaking his frantic thoughts.  

Anyway, darn it, Ardyn could take anything down with just one touch, if he wanted. 

Keep calm, he repeats to himself once again. Or he won’t be able to test the prophecy. 

He must follow his design and not let a boy trick him with his wayward fondness.  

The boy who told him about his father’s intentions, who’s trying to save his life risking much, very much. Regis wouldn’t put him to death, of course, but still... Punishment could be harsh. 

Yet, Noctis told him and that brightened a forgotten place in Ardyn’s heart.

Soft spot. 

Well, he will manage, he will find a way to play the game his own dirty anathema desires so much, while carrying out his plans. 

“Noctis? I’m exhausted, I’m still standing just because I want to talk to you. Hear me well. I’m not leaving. Are you going to let my love be in vain?”

Love? Did he really say “love”? Sounds strange on his lips, off timing with their movements, absurd. And definitely silly.

It can’t work. Noctis isn’t exactly bright but he’s furious, no way he can be persuaded by that. At least, Ardyn should have used it with more emphasis, with some smart move, anything better than that. 

After all, he knows everything about love, desire, affection. Been there, done that. Used “love”, abused and burnt to ashes from it, betrayed by the ones he loved.

In Noctis’s presence, Ardyn isn’t even sure about what the word means to him.

He knows that the sweetest fig is the one who’s been loved most by the elements. Fig branches on the top get mercilessly poked around by sunbeams, kissed by the sun and stroked by the winds throughout the day. They’re so fragile, you can’t climb a fig without destroying its structure. The sky alone can mellow those fruits. A long, patient, dedicated tingling on the tight skin, pinching, ripping. 

So delicious that it’s worth cutting the tree down, if it means to save it from inevitable decay. 

There are treasures worth bringing down whole empires. 

Is it love? So many echoes in his veins, murmuring and resonating softly, restless because there’s nowhere in his dirty anathema they can find a home.

It really ain’t for him.

It’s just the prophecy. Noctis is the Chosen One and it effects the Accursed. It makes sense. That’s all. 

“I came here to see you”.

No, Ardyn doesn’t really know. His uneasiness about such Gordian knot is woven in thousands tiny threads. 

If only he could burn his desire off in some pragmatic way, he would surely feel better. Because it’s just that, isn’t it? Some dirty, extreme, crazy dance luring under his skin, craving to share spasms and kisses, fusing their bodies together. Orgasm, delirious moans and the craziest pleasures past the point of no return. 

But it’s impossible. If Noctis is the Chosen One, well... He has a long path ahead. He will need all his blessed charm, the favor of Gods and Elements. Giving up to lust with the Accursed might tamper with it beyond repair. Noctis isn’t like him when he was young. They share the same hunger for affection, but Noctis is... so virginal. Coming inside him would brand his soul, and Ardyn has a feeling that he would not do it just once, definitely. 

To think that years ago, in a previous version of his plans, Ardyn considered sex as a mean to unveil Noctis’s true nature. But at fourteen he was still pure like the Greek Moon Goddess. Touching him would have breached his aura and risked his safety on the long term. So Ardyn gave up. Since then, he was tormented by his desire for Noctis’s finest cherry. The more he pushed it away, the more it rooted in his spine. 

Well, one reason to be pleased with himself: at least, he’s rational enough he’s sure to have not yet lost track of sensible plans. 

Sexual ecstasy isn’t a luxury he can indulge in at the moment.  

Even so, his blood is so cold that no amount of sun can change the way he is now.

At least, Noctis moves.

“You are scaring the fireflies...”.

“The fireflies?” he chirps right away, echoing the word in a fluty whisper. He can’t tell what worked, but it did. Finally, Noctis bestows his voice, deeper but not yet manly, more a veil of cotton over a crystalline glass.

What does he look like? His scent stays forbidden, covered from roses and jasmines. Does he bath in brisk salts, massage his skin with aromatic sponges, imbueed with balms?

Does his blood still taste of deer meat cooked in blackberries and caramel apples? 

“Yes, them”. 

“Oh, they dwell in your flowers, every night sucking this nectar... I wondered whether swans or peacocks are raised in your gardens, but fireflies... Tiny mysterious creatures. They suit you”.

The Prince tries a new long silence, but Ardyn found the right thread to lure out his shy oyster, a tiny hook in his throat where the pearl is already taking some shape. 

“Nights are getting colder. Most fireflies have already died”.

“And you, Noct? Aren’t you cold? Your voice is shaking”.

“You must go”.

“If I am to die in Rome, at least let me see you one last time. And I can’t believe-”. 

“You liar! You don’t care!” he cuts, his emotions vibrating fiercely. “You left and didn’t speak to me, you... I don’t... Take the gold we have, take it. Just tell Ignis and he’ll give you, he knows, there’s plenty to stay safe and rich anywhere you want. Take everything, but leave and let me... I don’t want to... to you”.

That’s absurd and funny at the same time. Ardyn smiles at the disembodied voice. 

“Not even a good-bye kiss? Noctis” and Ardyn pronounces the last ‘is’ with a soulful tone, “You sound so sad”.

“I’m not, I’m furious”.

“So are you punishing me?”

“I don’t want to hear you”.

“Then, you talk to me, I listen”.

“As if!” 

“You may notice... We are already talking”.

“How... You dare. I hate you”. 

“Well, no more talking then. Still, I’ll bring my gifts into your room. Then if it pleases you, you’ll let me kiss you and we’ll say farewell. But I won’t take your gold, and I won’t run from your father. If there’s one way to atone my faults, I will find it. For I’m a quite innocent man. I will regain Regis’s favor and come back to your side. Or at least... I will be able to see you. From afar if you wish so, but still here”.

Well said. Ardyn would be utterly convinced about his own candor, if he wasn’t aware that there’s no soul in him. 

“Why? Why, you...”. 

“Because I promised. Remember?” 

Their promise. Nice move. To think that he seriously intends to honor it tonight. He himself hardly sees the trick.

If Noctis is the Child of Prophecy, nothing will harm him. An ordeal would reveal the truth. Though Ardyn isn’t yet sure if he will unleash its full strength or he will... 

Noctis leans his body against the wall of thorns and branches. It’s not the bed on which Ardyn would keep him for hours, but he strokes it as if thorns weren’t there. 

“I don’t know why I’m trying to save you. I hate you”.

Ardyn inhales deeply the scents nested in the hedge, which are too strong and eclipse Noctis’s presence.

But the faint sighs... He can hear.

“No more hide and seek. Come to your room, Noct”. 

He walks away, giving his back to him. He knows how moonlight and cold winds play with his hairs, with his clothes smelling of waves, salt and mud. 

Will Noctis follow him? Like when he was a child learning to walk again. When Ardyn had complete power over his body, over his heart, bringing back his smile, his happiness, day after day.

Will Noctis follow him? Or is he too afraid of him, of the pain caused by him. A breach in his warm and safe nest, a silky core in the middle of a great Empire built on bloody thefts, wars and a frail, brutal and absolute power. 

If he’s the Chosen One and will walk that path, he will thank him one day. While hating him over anything else, he will be grateful, for Ardyn taught him a crucial lesson. 

One day, Noctis will loathe him with the same passion he loved him.

This is just a little taste of the future.

Ardyn doesn’t even want to think about it. He’s got time to get ready for that. Now, he can still... What? What is he really looking for tonight? He takes the sack from the grass at the feet of the fountain. Without further ado, he walks towards the bronze doors. He leaves them open, he puts the sack on the carpet that covers almost all the floor.

Then, bending until he sits on his heels, he takes the wicker basket with both hands and carefully puts it on a low dresser at the feet of the bed.  It soothes his mind, seeing it there, like and offering on the altar. The dresser is the only furniture in the room, except for the bed and two vases full of roses at the sides of the bronze canopy. The bed lays on statues of golden swans and their outstretched wings, while silver waves move around them starred with flowers. The pearl-black coverlet falls loosely around the sides of the mattress, bordered with black pearls embroidered on the wool. It covers a pure white silky sheet. 

A wonderful nest, so cozy and inviting, worthy of a gorgeous Prince. 

Noctis closes the door and the locks, like a thief who runs lightly and fast through earth and sky.

Ardyn doesn’t turn around for him. He smiles, unseen, at the paintings on the walls. 

He breathes slowly, deeply, until every pore in his lower body gets filled with the zesty scent of amber. Noctis’s scent. The air is clean, the lights are dim and dancing with darkness and shadows. 

“So, you do want the good-bye kiss”.

The Prince walks near the bed. His feet are dirt with dust and grass. His Achilles tendons support his weight like Corinthian columns. His steps are stiff. 

The toga covers him without any drape, just casually wrapped around him like a sheet, from head to knees.

“I don’t want to kiss you”.

“Not you, Noct”.

Noctis lets his body fall on the bed, sitting and still giving Ardyn his back.

“What tells you I want to be kissed?”

“Are you trembling, Noct?”

“Not your concern”.

“What can I do to earn your forgiveness, my dear?” 

“Nothing...” he shakes his head with such force that the toga almost falls off. He has to keep it in place with one hand. Ardyn gets a glimpse of his fingers. They’re pale and fumbling, frozen from the cold. A drop of blood for the thorns. “Or yes, there is one thing. Don’t talk. You stay silent, I speak. But I won’t speak, I don’t feel like talking, I want to sleep. And now you can still talk but when I won’t hear you any more you will stay silent and leave”. 

The toga weights on his body, covers it completely but he’s stiff and rigid, he’s barely keeping himself together. Ardyn gets free of the boots, pushing one heel against the other foot. He loosens the waist belt, throws the dalmatic on the floor. It’s hot in the room. Not that coldness or hotness disturb him in any way, but he likes to be comfortable. And wearing the sole long Chilton, he sits behind Noctis. 

“If you let me see you” he whispers with amiable amusement. 

“I can’t even look at you”. 

“Why, my dear?” 

“Because... What you said before. Did you mean it?” 

“When I talk with you, I always mean what I say”. 

“... Never mind”. 

“Let me in, Noct. Do it on your own, because... What you don’t say to me, I’ll find out anyway. Let me in”. 

“My father’s men will find you here. You can’t hide... You are so eager to die”. 

“Would they harm me before your eyes, on these sacred ships? Of course not. Tomorrow I will write a letter to your father, I’ll buy some time. Though... It may be easier if I knew exactly what earned my death sentence”.

“Don’t play innocent”. 

“I could tell the same to you, my dear. But I won’t press and and anyway” and he lies down on the mattress. It’s thick and feels soft behind his aching, tense back. “I blatantly ignored his orders. I think that’s that”. 

Noctis carefully turns his upper body so that Ardyn can’t see his face. 

“What did you do?” 

Noctis seems impressed. He knows his father’s reasons, but won’t share. For now, at least. But this means that the ultimate reason isn’t attributable to Ardyn.

His eyebrow lifts out of curiosity. 

He rolls on his left side, pretty much ignoring Noctis and stopping trying to take glimpse of him. 

Being close, on their own, makes him feel pleased like a lion half lying on his half eaten prey. 

“A father’s dark side isn’t his son’s concern”. 

“What happened?” 

“Well, if you insist...”. 

“You know, Ardyn. No wonder he wants you dead”. 

“Not just me, anyway. Before my leave, he ordered me to push Iedolas into the gates of Tartarus. If I was faithful to the Western Empire, he said, I would destroy the enemy that put it at risk”.

“Father... “. 

“No, auguste Regis, I answered. I won’t. For I am a doctor, and when I came to this Court it was in order to heal your son, not to harm him. Super partes I was, I am”. 

“You didn’t dare”. 

“You would have loved hearing me. Your father looked at me, you know, with his deathly glare, on the verge of asking Clarus to pin me to the wall with his sword, definitely wishing he could do it himself. But I was completely right. I lived in Constantinople’s Court before coming to you. When the Eastern Emperor got severely ill, this time... It was my duty to come back to him”. 

All true, except for a small detail that would be far too long to explain to the Prince’s young ears: Iedolas fell ill and has been so for two years now; Ardyn knows he hasn’t got much to live but, obviously, Regis is right to distrust someone in Ardyn’s position, so close to his dear son, who goes back to the old master, manages to keep him alive and returns before he’s died or completely recovered. Still, Ardyn smells a bitterness behind the way Regis intends to have him killed. There’s more.

Noctis, ignoring all this, is still musing over his words, maybe trying to understand better his own father.

At least, he spits out with the flattest tone.

“You aren’t the committed type”.

“Commitment is dreary”.

“Do you know what is boring? You. I’m so tired of you”.

Ardyn can read right through the hard crust. He pats the bed besides him and Noctis lays down on his side, still not letting him see his eyes. Ardyn faces his back, enjoys the close distance. It would be so easy to relax a little, to give himself up for half an hour, just breath in silence and let Noctis burn with anxiety.

“My bewitching child. That’s too bad, I couldn’t wait to be back. This bed is so comfortable and I am an old man, wounded by his favorite creature in all the worlds. I could die from angst right here, right now... “.

“I won’t save you”.

“I see. You learnt a thing or two from Prompto and his silver tongue. Well done”.

Ardyn stretches out a hand, lingering on the stiff black cloth covering Noctis’s head. He doesn’t push, confining himself to a ghastly caress.

“I learnt so much from...” he stumbles, clears his throat and adds immediately. “From many sources. I’m a man now”.

Ardyn stops right where he is, his fingers in midair and his lungs empty. 

“Sounds interesting. Then tell me”.

“The night wouldn’t be enough. Too many”.

“Did you forget? There are nights done for the eternity. We have all the time”.

Before leaving, he would keep his little Noctis, with or without Ignis, sometimes with all his friends together, awake through the hours of darkness, until the darkest and coldest one, the one before the dawn. Often talking about things ancient enough that only Ardyn remembers them; things whose signs and relics got weathered by time.

It looks so far, so far away.

Ardyn’s guts are quickly swirling into a maelstorm.

“I just did whatever I wanted. I’m me, I can, I did everything I wished”. 

“Major faults, I presume” he purrs, disgruntled. He catches the hesitation in Noctis’s voice, a clear sign of lying. Still, merely hearing Noctis’s lips tell such words, irks him to his utmost worst. “Was it pleasant, my dear?”

Noctis stills, transfixed by his imposing tone and the weight of his own awkward lies.

Ardyn touches the toga on his head, forcing it back and revealing his hairs. The faint lights aren’t nearly enough to bring out just one color. So the locks appear white like the moon here, and black like the sky there.

They smell of the slight scent of a peony blossom ready to open.

Ardyn takes one in his fingertip, on the back of his neck.

“You... You told that you would stay silent, if I asked. Will you really do it?” 

“I would if you let me see you”.

“Will you keep this promise? No lies?”

“I will. But you too... You shouldn’t tell lies just to hurt me beyond my control”.

Noctis turns around slowly, clumsy for the toga constraining his movements. Ardyn bends an arm for leverage, put his cheek on the back of his closed fingers. He sees better his Prince, his child that doesn’t look like wearing anything under that badly worn impractical cloth.

On the other hand, he moves like a newborn little bird still fighting with his shell.

His face would gleam with a pristine youth if it haven’t slimmed down far too much.

Ardyn brushes Noctis’s cheekbone with his thumb, slowly moving to his ear, where he lingers on the cartilage, on the lobe where’s the small scar left from a stone, when he fell from the horse during the accident. 

Noctis’s eyes sparkle of all the light that was taken away from affliction.

Ardyn softens in a one sided smile.

The young Prince takes a deep breath in his nose, trying to not show it.

“Yes, I lied. What’s wrong about that? You lie, my father lies! I’m not any different. I have the right to... To want things”.

“I couldn’t agree more. I wonder why you didn’t take lovers, then”. 

“I... Didn’t want that”.

“No one would say no”. 

“No one would sleep with me now... Now that...” he looks away, at the ceiling, rolling on his back. “I failed the Gods and they punished me. And you knew, I don’t know how but you knew, right? That it was just a lie. This is why you proposed the marriage. Because I’m not... I prayed just for one thing. To see you before my father... I prayed day and night in my heart, in my mind. I didn’t want to loose you like this. My father is mad at me. I failed all his expectations. I told him that I don’t want to be Prince of this Empire, if...” he needs air again, but this time he breathes deeply with all his thin gracious ribs. “The Goddess listened and brought you here”.

“You don’t look worried about your father”. 

“Should I, really?” 

Ardyn lies down again and slides one arm under Noctis’s body, who’s light and cold like a spring water slowly flowing away from its safe world.

He can’t be the Chosen, no, he can’t. 

He’s evanescent.

He’s not the one Ardyn could unleash thunder-and-fire shafts at. 

At Noctis’s age, Ardyn was rampaging. Far too enthusiast and naive, yet so passionate and powerful. 

“He’s trying to protect you from what he thinks a danger”. 

All for nothing. It was all for nothing. People are beginning to forget the old Gods, the old rites; the world is turning on its axis and soon, too soon, the innocent cruelty of disembodied Forces will fall silent. No one will be any more at the mercy of capricious deities. 

He will be a mere meaningless remnant, severed forever from-.

“Ardyn?”

He’s holding him tighter. His child drips into his embracing emptiness, as if he’s wont to fill it for the eternity.

They’re more than close now, crossing each other’s heartbeat.

“What are you afraid of telling me, Noct?”

“If I tell you, you’ll leave”.

“Try me”.

“I” he keeps firmly his tears in the corners of his eyes. He’s wounded and in pain, yet he’s got a graceful strength. They’re so alike in this moment. “I can’t be the Chosen of the Prophecy”.

“You can’t be the Chosen of the Prophecy”. 

He can’t say anything else, or his voice will vibrate too much. 

Noctis slides in his arms, closing the distance. He’s got presence for such a tiny body. Maybe it’s his smell, his composure and the excited pulse. 

Ardyn palms the back of his neck, covers his feet with his own leg. 

“You will leave me again”.

“Noct” he says it like a kiss on the lips, which he would gladly give him to silence his frantic thoughts. “You are on my side as I’m always been on yours. The difference is that my side is a bit lonely. While the world loves you. And if the world burnt to ashes, your friends would follow you to the end of time. It’s not the Prophecy to make you what you are, on the contrary... “.

He just spoke without thinking, really, but once said it hits him hard. 

Is it possible that...? 

“You’re the only one that never blamed me for my accident. You never asked me why I took the untamed horse, and mounted it. The others were rabid”.

“While I massaged you, during the first of many long days we spent like that, you told me about the Prophecy first thing. In detail, everything you knew. I didn’t ask because you let me in, I didn’t need words”. 

“But I never understood you. Why you did what you did. You didn’t believe one word, did you? You never believed I was the Chosen”. 

“Then why should I leave you?” 

“Not... Not for that. Not for the Prophecy. I meant... Why is this so difficult”. 

“You are still cold”.

“You burning, your fault”. 

“Tomorrow we will have a long and good meal first thing in the morning. I’m going to instruct the cook”. 

“Ignis”. 

“That’s wonderful. He’ll be glad to feed you until you fall asleep”. 

“He tried”. 

“I know. Everyone wants to keep you safe”. 

“And you?” he mumbles, pressing his forehead, the silky line of his eyebrow, against his neck. His body moves a little, muffled by the stiff toga. Ardyn can’t feel the exact shape of his body. It annoys him. 

“Have you never considered you father may be right about me?” 

Noctis breathes fast on his skin. 

“About you hurting me? What do you think?” 

“I love this new clever side of yours, Noct. I let you tantalize me for long enough, but now, my dirty boy, you will behave”. 

He plays along the game Noctis threw between them with simplicity, he plays the game he craved for far too much. He gently pushes the boy on his back, straightens above him, towering him with palms on the mattress around his head, pinning him down under his best knowing gaze. 

Noctis’s lips shiver and don’t waver. He locks his fingers behind Ardyn’s neck, never getting his eyes off of him

“Will you take me away with you?”

“I can show you the worlds, but you may find the fare to be more than you bargained for, Noct”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

\---x---xxx---x---

Hi everyone! Back again! I really wanted to write this faster but here I am, T_T On the other hand, I'm quite satisfied with those two and this chapter! Let me know if you like it! Comments, kudos, a chat on my tumblr, everything is much much love and I cherish! <3 

And thank you so much for the comments to the first chapter, and for the kudos!! 

Thanks for reading, I'll do my utmost to give you the next chapter ASAP! 


	3. Ut melius quicquid erit pati!

Ardyn’s tongue loosens while his fingers lose themselves in Noctis’s skin around his elbows, his ankle - the Prince is not of this world.

Not even the far East can wave anything worthy of him. He’s born to be naked and sweating with pleasure in a bed.

Satiny arms and legs.

After two years it still stirs up his dulled sense of touch.

His blood pulses in the spots bitten by the thorns.

His fingers hurt and he feels it.

He can feel his own body.

After so much time, he’s again inside his tingling tense flesh.

And it’s a lava lake of longing.

His tongue loosens and says what it should not - he catches a glimpse of his own speech, just in time to add “... but you may find the fare to be more than you bargained for, Noct”, since it was going too far.

Not that Noctis would read between lines.

He’s far too gone in the bliss of Ardyn’s drunken hands, of his feet tenderly enjoying his shivers, following them running on his skin, trying to make them burn his bones.

Shared pleasure threw them down in a leap of faith. Who knows what will happen at the impact on the water.

“I want... you. What’s more?” he fights for breath.

Ardyn smiles, plainly entertained. 

“What about the other lovers, Noct?”

“I wasn’t serious!”

Fast and stressed. Somewhere this truth is telling little lies. Ardyn strokes him behind his ear, plays with his hair.

“I wonder what gave you the image. Thinking about this is enough to soil you, Prince dear”.

“You...” he trembles as if the blood in him turns plain as water while his face gets red from nose to neck against his pure white skin. “Go on like this and I order you to silence. I’m not a...”.

Princely honor and pride on thin ice. Noctis’s defenseless identity hanging from Ardyn’s lips.

He should really go slow with his boy.

Unfortunately, Ardyn is a hellion.

“A slave dancing to enthrall”.

He feels the Prince’s ribs slightly crack with indignation. The intangible shell thickens around him.

“You-”

“I can be your master” he looks at him in the eye, lifting his chin with one finger. “I’ll gift you with a black pearls robe, and make them roll all over your skin under my stroke”.

“You shut up!” he cries.

“As you command, Noctis” in one breath he speaks and flicks the name through throat and tongue, almost laughing into a smile, watching strands rock over Noctis’s feverish, fierce eyes, matching his sharp breath. He must wildly aroused by the playful harassment -  it’s a pity that the toga hides him so well. He looks ready to speak back a retort - which would be lovely, but Ardyn intends to lead this dance.

He touches his own lips, from one corner to the other, presses his spread index over them, then across Noctis’s ones, and there he hovers. He barely turns the wrist and he circles them with his thumb, all the way down to the lower lip, up to the upper, light enough to seal them in a mellow bloom, softening the stringed muscles around.

Noctis’s inspiring brisk sips of air through his nose, tickling Ardyn’s skin with tender, shaking wisps. His eyelids sway close for a moment, right when Ardyn’s almost hatches the wax seal on his mouth.

In the sparkle of an instant, the proud Prince would be all around his fingertip to lick it - if Ardyn didn’t remove it.

Confused and betrayed, Noctis glares at him with all his black and murderous rage.

Ardyn shakes his head but this time it’s for his mouth to drink Noctis’s scent, about to kiss him, so close that his lion cub bravely meows at the rising hailstorm of pleasure. He snaps to catch the kiss, Ardyn dodges and instead forces him to open his arms on the mattress.

He feels Noctis’s princely palms and their tiny round calluses (maybe some hard sword training, recently).

He scratches with nails, tickling the sensitive skin into shivers that won’t laugh, for Noctis’s stubborn, and clings to his hurt stiffness.

Shivers that are sinking deeper into his muscles and make Noctis’s pupils pulse in time with his broken breath.

His arms like spread wings.

Ardyn smiles at him. He sits on his tights and plunges him into the mattress. Like a courtesan of the old times, like Roxane with Alexander in their nest of stone and fur drapes.

Noctis can’t take eyes off of him. His soft eyelashes are darker with wetness, pupils wide as if trying to devour the irises, hungry and impatient to find a weak spot in Ardyn, be it on his lips or his chest. A gaze afraid of what it wants and doesn’t linger on anything for too long. It finds new places and Ardyn would love to be touched, kissed, from his Prince losing all control, but he will have him strive for it.

Flaying his defense.

Ardyn caresses his way on his arms, ignoring the toga and keeping touching his bare skin to his armpits.

Hairs here feel like a cotton skein, short and soft. The inner layers of the cloth bar him off of the skin on his chest, so he insists on the feverish skin between the arms and ribs until it jumps under his fingertips.

Noctis is biting his lower lips, trying to stay still. The breaking sweat betrays his tension. Ardyn impregnates his fingertips with the subtle veil. They dry immediately as he touches the toga while pulling his hand away from him.

He smells his right hand - sour blood from the sacrifice, sweet pollen from the roses, edgy sweat squeezed for a few shivers.

Noctis’s body is virgin from head to toe, but the Prince knows what’s going to happen, he anticipates, fears, wants it badly.

Not so virgin, his mind. He’s trying to hide it.

He digs a hole in Ardyn’s stomach, already half eaten from the worms of desire.

Ardyn brings down his arm and puts his own fingers on Noctis’s nose, on his mouth. He rubs his own rough skin to the dew-kissed skin, especially over his lips, soft like the thin diaphragm of the bowel. Not giving him time to adjust, or read his intentions, Ardyn pushes the small finger inside, on his even softer tongue.

Teeth bite by reflex.

Ardyn doesn’t flinch, lets them probe bone and tendons while it invites the tongue to taste the smells. Noctis blushes to collarbone, closes his eyes with shame and begins sucking, shily, his lips not quite closing but moving around his finger, inviting it deeper, too gentle to not be erotic and suggestive.

Ardyn wants to make him drool until his tongue gets dry.

He moves the hand around his face, pushing his left side on the pillow, keeping it in place with one more finger against the inner side of his mouth, forcing him to wet a little his hand.

He lowers to his ear, breathing against the lobe without touching it with his lips. Breathing as if he’s up to speaking, but staying silent, just inhaling the scent of the lake Noctis has bathed into not more than one day ago, and the boy’s flavor, a mixture of vanilla and poppy milk.

He fights.

Ardyn kisses his pulse, his moaning throat. Lower, and lower, and more. By the time his lips fall on the clothes, he’s given stronger kisses as his mouth got used to the tense muscles.

Noctis looks at him with spite, desperate for a way out, desperate for more. Ardyn lets him go.

His Prince rolls off the bed, runs into a corner, bending on his knees and trembling. Ardyn is right behind him, catches him by the elbow and forces him back on his legs.

He undresses him, freeing him from all the layers, from top to his tights, that now Noctis covers with his hands, then on his belly and almost full hard sex.

Ardyn looks at him, yellowish at the oil lamps gleam, almost sick.

He outstretched his arms to touch him again but Noctis pushes back, right into the wall, shaking his head.

“I never did it! I don’t want... Like this...”.

Ardyn doesn’t move. And stays silent.

Noctis understands, avoids his gaze, looks everywhere.

“Please, don’t punish me... I just wanted to see how you...”.

He takes one step on the side. Ardyn blocks him slapping his palm flat on the wall.

“Talk to me! You can talk now!”

A clumsy order, looking at the floor, embracing himself tightly.

“You are scaring me”.

A pleading Noctis could melt a stone, but Ardyn’s been forged in fire. Although his insides burn, he’s hard on the outside. His own sex, covered by the chiton, is slowly knotting into unfamiliar stiffness.

How much time it’s been?

He uses his mouth to smile, not to speak. He takes one of the roses from the vase, bends on one knee and lays the petals on Noctis’s foot. The stroke is so light and delicate that tickles the creamy skin between his tanned fingers, shuddering and clenching and getting away from the touch. Ardyn blocks the other feet before it escapes too, covering it with his hand.

Noctis’s skin is cold, the ankle stiffens even more.

He raises his eyes. His Prince is frowning, head tilted to the side and lips tightly sealed.

Ardyn gently cups the back of his bent knee, the one trying to deny him his scared foot; he pulls his forward, until he can kiss it.

“So charming, my darling... I couldn’t resist”.

He feels the young body tremble under his fingers. He kisses a shiver on the upper part of his thigh, unleashing many more.

“Ardyn...”.

“No more need to play chase and fight, Noct” he clicks his tongue, letting his cheek rest fondly on his hip. “I’d rather have you blooming with pleasure under my hands”.

He guides gently the leg over his shoulder, letting Noctis’s skin feel his own, almost roughened from the long travel by sea. The friction is delicious to Ardyn, for the boy’s leg looks for a comfortable position, moves over the muscles and Ardyn’s could almost breath on Noctis’s cock, swells up as if pinched. Noctis’s desperate hand looks for leverage in Ardyn’s hair.

“I... I feel... Not quite well...” and he licks his lips, wetting them in such a delicious manner that Ardyn lusts even more for them.

“Breath. It’s too soon to faint”.

“I can’t...”.

Ardyn thumbs tenderly the tan line on the knee sustaining his weight.

“You’re being wonderful, Noct. Your legs smell nice, I like this...” he pinches the skin. Noctis squeals and almost loses balance. “You’ve been much under the sun this summer, haven’t you?”

“Don’t...” now a light touch, to mend the pulsating nerves. “Don’t tickle me!”

“Don’t you like it?”

“I- I can’t stand!” he cries.

“You did it. Now, you lean on the wall, stay like this on my shoulder. You won’t fall”.

He strokes the lower leg with his fingers here, or his palm there, playing with the muscles, the tendons and the frail spot behind the knee, all the way up to the hip, on the round bone flat under the muscles tense like strings. He kisses it, pushing to feel it well under his lips. Then he gets up, and takes Noctis in his arms, lifting him up (he weights like a feather) and walking to the bed.

“One you’ll be lying on that mattress... I won’t stop. So” and their lips are so close. “Are you sure?”

Noctis watches him in the eyes, breathing on his lips and surrounding his hips with the legs.

“Will you be mine?”

Ardyn laughs, lifts an eyebrow in utmost interest.

“Only if you will reclaim me for good”.

“I don’t know how”.

“I neither. No one ever did that”.

“So, I’ll be your first one too”.

Surely, Noctis doesn’t mean literally taking his body. At the moment, such a desire is unthinkable: it would never cross the darkest pits of the Prince’s erotic fantasies. Such is Ardyn’s power over him.

Yet, in all innocence, it disrupts some distant and vague part of his confidence. He doesn’t want to think about it, he has better to do at the moment.

He’s possessed to the verge of enthusiasm from having his little Prince in a bed. That’s more than enough.

Add to that, he can’t quite joke about who takes who with his boy. It would bury him under hopeless and hapless embarrassment.

“Slow down, slow down little nymph”.

“So... Do you like my body?”

“Your clean, soft and shy body? It makes me crazy”.

Noctis blushes again, loosely closing his arms around Ardyn’s neck, where he hides his face. He relaxes a little in the hug he’s giving. Still, he’s cold. Ardyn lets him take his time, shooting the tension at the base of his spine with lazy strokes.

“I don’t know how to do it”.

“Would you prefer me a little harsher?” he murmurs against his hairs. “To force you sweetly?”

Noctis shivers everywhere, tightens the knot around the man’s strong muscles.

Ardyn feels his princely shameless cock full hard and grinding against his belly.

“Can you do it?”

The high, excited tone, twirls Ardyn’s thoughts around an axis, chaining him like a slave to his destiny.

He falls forward, pushing his defenseless Prince under him, over the mattress. Naked and golden and covered by ruby powder on his face and neck, the knees forced open at Ardyn’s sides.

Full of trust.

So naive. He should run.

Ardyn strokes his sides downwards; he scrapes his head on the pillow, entangling his hairs.

Ardyn squeezes his teeny hips; he bits a moan into his lower lip.

Ardyn cups his tiny ass; he melts in his fingers.

He knows Noctis’s every inch. He knows as if they’ve been doing it for years. He has no intention to go slow.

And there a fingertip on his slit. Noctis tries to roll on his side to escape or to give him better access, Ardyn can’t know. This is worse than not knowing how to handle a virgin eager fire.

So, he lets him roll, he lowers along the line of his arm, stroking it with his lips. When he kisses nicely the hip bone, Noctis jumps and bites the pillow, while Ardyn is already lower, along the short line of his ass, his small, boyish ass.

He lingers there, stroking his tightness, pushing him down, on his belly, spreading his legs a little more. He firmly sustains his hips with both hands when he licks him with such a passion that it can’t tickle him. Yet, Noctis squirms and humps on the sheets so hard that Ardyn’s smart tongue steals the access through the spasms of the first orgasm.

It’s just lust.

The desire that fogged his thought is going to be extinguished just like this, bringing Noctis down with him, one wave after the other. Ardyn pushes as far as he can go, sucks the rim and again, pushes and sucks, spreads the cheeks and again, again, against the defenseless small ring, far too small for the perverted sensitivity of its nerves.

It tightens around his tongue and forces him out there, where he punishes it by licking every wrinkle. He strokes the lines, running across every fine detail.

He pants a bit breathless. How much time has passed? He pushed the back of his hand to his mouth, all wet to the chin.

Lewd. He didn’t eat an ass since... Almost forever.

“Did you like it, Noct?”

The boy can barely lift his head. It falls back on the pillow. He looks at Ardyn, silently pleading and knees still spread, trembling. Somehow, he gets a grip on himself and slowly, so slowly, he lifts himself up, on his knees and palms.

Ardyn eyes his cock, stiff again. Noctis blushes furiously, sits on his heels to hide it.

Ardyn strokes his back, over the white scar and the slight imperfection of the spine.

“That was... I...” speechless. Licks his lips and tries again. “I didn’t know you can do it”.

Ardyn closes the distance. Sits half on his own leg, half on the mattress, right behind him. Noct’s eyes on his mouth, which has just adored his most secret part.

“Are you relieved? I’ve eaten your ass and nothing gruesome happened, my sweet Chosen One”.

“That didn’t count”.

“What will?”

“You know”.

“I won’t stop now anyway”.

“Don’t dare” he clears his voice. “Really” he smiles, shaking his head. “You kissed my...”.

“Your sweet ass”.

“Is it really sweet?”

“Of course not. But still. No second thoughts?”

“Stop teasing me”.

“Tell me”.

Ardyn holds out his arms, and closes them around him. Noctis pushes back into his embrace, pleased and smiling, eyes closed.

“Now we can’t kiss”.

“So, you love the idea of my tongue inside your hungry hole, but not in your mouth?”

Noctis looks for the knot of Ardyn’s belt, twisting a little in his arms, fight against it until the simple silky rope falls limp in his hand.

“I wanted a real kiss”.

“That’s a serious thing, Noct”.

“I’m serious”.

Ardyn takes his cock between his flingers. It’s a nice princely shaft, it will probably grow a little more. For now, it’s happily moving in his loose grip, like a pup jumping in pure bliss.

“Oh, I see, Noct. Very serious”.

Noctis whimpers, bends his neck to look at his hand, darker than the pinkish candor of his wet tip untouched by Ardyn’s fingers, much more interested in the root and the unripe peaches below. Ardyn can’t see his face, but imagines his expression.

Tender and irresistible.

“We were talking about the kiss. How do you want it?”

“You will kiss my cock. As punishment”.

“Are you taking advantage of my benevolence?”

“Won’t you?”

“If asked nicely”.

“You’re mine, remember? You almost chocked me a moment ago”.

“You wished rude”.

“You’re... Rough”.

“But you like it”.

“Well, yes” he laughs shyly, moaning with pleasure and rolling his hips. Ready already to come again.

Ardyn bends his neck to better observe it: the head is wet and red, overflowing with fluids inside and through.

“I won’t underestimate my graces, or your enthusiastic age, but you look dying with thirst down there”.

Noctis moans louder.

“You... The Prophecy. I didn’t...” he stumbles on the syllables and ends in a whisper.

“What, Noct?”

“I didn’t touch myself!”

The most silly thing in the history of silly things.

“For two years?”

He doesn’t want believe it for a second. If only Noctis didn’t sound so desperate, his voice so high as he confessed it.

“In my sleep, when I didn’t realize, yes, I did a little but never else”.

“And you asked it rough? You really have to learn...”.

He’s amused and moved.

His idiot Prince.

“You told me to stay pure”.

“Foolish boy. I never forbidden you sex. And as you may have had sex, you’re still dumb. It’s a kind of purity”.

“You told me it!”

What is his point? Ardyn strokes all his length - decent, for a boy of his age. Small enough he can keep it in one palm, big enough to satisfy his wrist. He’s handling it a little too hard, maybe, but surely it’s very much sensitive, poor untouched thing.

“You thought it an order and tried to disobey? But you regretted it so much you didn’t touch yourself”.

Noctis trembles from neck to hips, mumbles something in his throat and presses himself against him, looking for refuge and safety.

“I...”.

“Not now. Now it’s only for you and me”.

He’s disappointed but his guts tell him there’s been no real danger, no real lover, nothing like what they’re doing now. But who was that? Who dared?

The moment he thinks the boy in his hands, he slips away.

And he wants him more.

Now he’s in his hands.

When he’ll come, he’ll slip away again.

“Ardyn...”.

Nice way to cry his name, though still too weak.

“Gods won’t punish you if it was me. And I may punish you a little, so they really forget about it”.

He nibbles his ear with light, playful teeth. He bends to collect his abandoned belt, puts it on his shoulder and takes his Prince’s wrists, crosses them behind his back. Noctis’s arms are shivering but soft, he’s not resisting as Ardyn ties them behind his ribs. The tie won’t hurt him but will keep one hand over the opposite elbow.

Ardyn breathes deeply, keeping his composure and control even if Noctis’s docility gets to his nerves, his trust to his heart.

A part of him wants to speak and go on arguing, the other wants the impact, the water at least to make him burst in a center of pure violent energy.

He lifts the silky hair from the back of his neck, and kisses it as he would his lips. He strokes it with the tip of his tongue, brushes his lips against the whiter skin.

“Did you want to fill my mouth with your cum?”

He would do it, for his docile Prince.

It doesn’t mean he will. He just...

Noctis pulls the ropes, trying to free himself. A weak attempt.

He turns around his head. He’s smiling, drunken with the pleasure and ready to come right away.

“Won’t you, Ardyn?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, readers and shippers and FFXV lovers! <3  
> I hope you had fun!  
> If so, comments are life and love, and will give me fuel to go on with more confidence.
> 
> In particular, if you have suggestions, corrections or anything, don’t hesitate to tell me. It will help me improve and I know I need it -///-. At least I hope that everything was clear enough.
> 
>  
> 
> Three important things:
> 
> \- This is an ArdyNoct, so there won’t be anything explicit among the others. But I don’t exclude that if I wrote a sequel… anything could happen.
> 
> \- I haven’t written the second chapter yet, but I plan to get a little… kinky. For now I will fill the tags I think are most likely to cover the second chapter, but I might edit them when I’ll post it.
> 
> \- Noctis here is 16. I put the underage disclaimer because he’s underage for our modern Western laws, though in Imperial Rome he was almost an adult (it varied much, there wasn’t an exact year for adulthood; in Republic Rome, it was usually 17, when young men could join the army, but in Imperial Rome there wasn’t a specific age because it changed depending on the circumstances). Generally speaking, male were ready to take their responsibilities since they were seventeen.
> 
> Anyway, when I was writing I considered everyone emotionally and mentally a little younger than in the game. So, I suppose the disclaimer is on point.


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